by Lydia Reeves
“Geoff?” I said aloud, my throat scratchy as I lunged for the phone.
It was the hospital.
I barely had time to process that it wasn’t him before I’d answered the call, phone clutched tight in my sweating hand.
“Miss Kohler? It’s Amanda, from Human Resources. Would you be able to come into the hospital this morning?”
Amanda was the same person who had delivered the news that I’d been suspended. Oh god, was this it? Was I about to be arrested? But no, then it would be the police calling, not the hospital, right? And they’d probably show up at my door, not call first. Was I just getting officially fired, then?
“Miss Kohler?”
I realized I’d been silent too long. “I’m here. Yes, I can be there in about half an hour.” My voice shook no matter how hard I tried to control it.
“That’ll work just fine. We’ll see you soon.”
I ended the call, replaying every word in my mind. Should I have asked what it was about? Who was “we?”
One glance in the mirror convinced me that I couldn’t leave the house in this condition. I hadn’t showered or slept well in days, and it showed. Fortunately, it only took about fifteen minutes to get to work, so I stripped down and showered in record time, brushing my teeth with one hand while attempting to tie up my wet hair with the other. Should I wear scrubs? No, idiot, you’re not going to work. You’re going to find out you’ll never work again.
I pulled on clean jeans and a nice top—what does one wear to get fired?—grabbed my coat and was out the door seconds later.
I barely registered any of the drive there, I was so preoccupied with the instant replay of the phone call running over and over in my mind, and I didn’t realize I was in the wrong place until I had walked into the ER and was halfway to the nurses station.
Idiot, I chastised myself again, ignoring the pang that twisted my heart in my chest. I really was going to miss this place.
By the time I’d made it across to the other side of the building where HR was housed with the other administrative offices, I was late, and I could hear voices coming from inside the small meeting room the receptionist directed me to.
When I opened the door, I barely had time to take in the scene inside before silence fell and three pairs of eyes swiveled to look my way.
Only one of the seats at the table in the center of the room was occupied—by a tense-looking Amanda, a pretty woman in her mid-fifties with graying hair. Standing behind one of the empty chairs was Officer Brady, the police officer who had taken my statement, the same one who had come into the ER on Thursday and ruined my life. Across the table by the far wall was Dr. Ashvale, wearing his scrubs and lab coat, his face pinched in an expression of supreme annoyance.
What was going on?
“Ah, Bria, come take a seat.” Amanda half rose, gesturing to one of the empty chairs around the table. I obeyed, clutching my purse tight to my chest. I was so confused. What was—
“We all know why we’re here,” she started, and my brow furrowed. Had I missed something? But a second later she turned to look at me and continued. “After reviewing the statements and the additional evidence, we have been authorized to lift your suspension, Bria. You can return to work on your regular shift on Wednesday.”
“What?!” My voice came out in a hoarse squeak.
Officer Brady took over, coming around the table so I could see his face. It was still expressionless—I wondered if the man was even capable of forming expressions—but I was much more interested in his words than his face.
“We’ve been through the medical records, and it seems there was a mistake.” He consulted the file of papers he held in one hand. “Mr. Templeton came into the emergency department on November eighteenth, at 8:17am, complaining of back pain, and was treated by you, correct?”
I nodded numbly, heart pounding.
“He was found and reported to the police early in the morning on November nineteenth. The autopsy showed that he had died from an overdose of alcohol and morphine, and put his time of death at roughly 9:30pm on the evening of the eighteenth.”
My brow furrowed. We’d already been over all this. What was going on?
“Apparently that was not Mr. Templeton’s only visit to the ER that day.”
I looked up, startled.
“It seems he returned to the hospital roughly six hours later, and was seen by Miss Harper.”
Claire? Six hours later…I would have been off my shift by then.
“But…but you had his medical records,” I said, looking around the room. “Why…”
“Apparently that second visit was misdated,” the officer informed me. “It was entered into your computer system as occurring on October eighteenth, instead of November.”
My jaw dropped open.
“But when the timeline is fixed, everything makes sense,” Officer Brady went on. “Mr. Templeton checked into the ER again at 2:45pm on the afternoon of November eighteenth, and was released without medical treatment. He died approximately seven hours later.”
I sat, stunned, waiting for my brain to process all this new information. Finally, I glanced toward the police officer. “How did you figure it out? The dates, I mean.”
Apparently, the man could form expressions after all, because I saw the faintest flush of what looked like embarrassment cross his features. “We didn’t. Miss Harper called this morning and brought the matter to our attention.”
“It’s been four days,” I whispered, half to myself. Suddenly I felt cold. What would have happened if Claire had never come forward?
There was a long silence, and then Amanda cleared her throat. “Okay, well, Officer Brady, I’ll need you in my office. Bria, if there are no other questions, we’ll expect you back at work on Wednesday, okay? I’ll have paperwork for you then as well.”
I nodded dumbly, and the two of them left the room, leaving me alone with Dr. Ashvale.
I expected him to leave as well, but instead he pushed off the wall and turned to face me. “Miss Kohler. I apologize for reporting you to the hospital board and recommending your suspension. I am glad you will be staying. You’re a good nurse.”
I blinked. Then blinked again, looking into his scowling face with disbelief. I didn’t mean to respond, but the words were past my lips before I could pull them back. “I thought you hated me.”
Dr. Ashvale snorted, his expression full of that familiar disdain. “Miss Kohler, I don’t hate you. I do not particularly approve of your…choices.” His gaze pointedly took in my hair and tattoos. “I find it unprofessional. I fought the board when they relaxed the rules on body modifications, but I lost. However, it does not appear to affect your abilities, and you are good at your job. It would have been a shame to lose you.”
I opened my mouth again, but nothing came out.
I expected him to leave, but a moment later, Dr. Ashvale’s frown deepened, and he opened his mouth, then closed it again. I realized suddenly that he had more to say, and I had a sinking suspicion I might know what it was. I waited him out, my mind still reeling from the events of the last half hour, and finally he spoke.
“I understand you’ve been dating my son.”
I winced, and wondered how he’d found out. “Yes, well. I was. I’m not currently sure if I am or not.”
Dr. Ashvale raised an eyebrow over his frown, but I elected not to clarify.
“Well, after that embarrassing fiasco at the fundraiser, maybe he’ll stop—”
I didn’t know how he was going to finish that sentence, and I didn’t want to find out. My anger welled up, and I cut him off before I realized I was going to speak. “You know,” I said loudly, “the only person at that fundraiser who’s opinion he cared about was yours.”
Dr. Ashvale scoffed. “Geoff doesn’t care about my opinion. He never has.”
I looked at him in amazement, my mouth open. “Look, this is none of my business. I don’t even know if I’m dating your son or not. But that doesn’t make any of
this less true: Geoff cares about your opinion more than anything. He works so hard to be what he thinks you want, and never feels like he’s good enough.”
Dr. Ashvale opened his mouth, but I didn’t give him a chance to speak. “Your son is a wonderful person. He’s the kindest, most caring, supportive individual I’ve ever met, and any faults he has are directly a result of him trying to make himself into a different person so he can gain your approval.”
Dr. Ashvale’s mouth snapped shut, and I suddenly regretted my outburst. My emotions were too close to the surface, and I was being inappropriate. This really wasn’t my place.
I waited for whatever blistering retort the doctor had for me, but to my surprise, he didn’t say anything at all. For just a second I thought I caught something more than disapproval in the depths of his frown, but before I could identify it, he gave me a brief nod. “I’ll see you on Wednesday.” Then without another glance, he turned and left the room.
The door swung shut behind him on silent hinges, but I didn’t move. I sat there for a long time, staring unseeing at the wall, letting the events of the past half hour replay in my mind. It felt like a dream, all of it—a four-day-long nightmare that was suddenly, unexpectedly over.
And in the void of all the stress and anger and anxiety, I missed Geoff. I realized my hastily spoken words to Dr. Ashvale had all been true. Geoff was the kindest, most caring and supportive person I’d ever met. And I hated that we’d each let our own insecurities and problems come between us. Problems that could have been better fixed together.
I needed to see him.
What seemed like an eternity later I rose to my feet, wiping my damp palms on my jeans, and pulled my coat on. I glanced at my watch. Geoff should be at work right now; I could head straight there. I hurried out into the hallway, where voices from Amanda’s adjacent office stopped me in my tracks.
“I didn’t mean to.” The voice was muffled by the heavy door and thick with tears, but I still immediately recognized it as Claire. “He had just been in, and it was cold outside; I thought he was just looking for somewhere to stay! We were busy by then; I didn’t have an extra bed or the time to waste on him.”
Paused outside the door, I cringed at her words, but then another voice answered. It was Dr. Ashvale—he must have gone to Amanda’s office after he’d left the conference room. His voice was icy. “If he was overdosing, he must have had symptoms.”
Claire’s voice came louder through the door. “He was drowsy and uncoordinated, but it didn’t seem out of the ordinary. He was always drunk! How was I supposed to know there was more going on?”
I could almost imagine Dr. Ashvale’s glare. “By doing your job! If you’d done any kind of real assessment you would have seen. Just because the man was homeless, and an addict, doesn’t make him any less deserving of our care than any other patient.”
I blinked. What a human sentiment from Dr. Asshole.
Claire just cried harder though. “I’m sorry.”
I heard footsteps moving through the room and then another voice broke in. When I recognized it as Officer Brady, I straightened. This, too, was none of my business. There was nothing I could do about it now, Claire had gotten herself into this mess all by herself. Besides, I had a different mess I needed to deal with.
As I made my way down the hallway, my steps picked up, until I was running out the doors and across the parking lot to my car, wrenching open the door and jamming my key in the ignition.
I needed to find Geoff.
* * *
“What do you mean he doesn’t work here anymore?!”
I was pretty sure my voice was reaching a register only dogs could hear, but Sam only smiled at me, his dark eyes crinkling in the corners.
“Well, I mean, technically he does, but only for another month or two. He put in his notice. Finally.”
My mouth opened and closed like a fish.
It had been four days since my meeting at the hospital, and I still hadn’t been able to talk to Geoff. When I’d raced over after talking with HR, he hadn’t been at work, and Sam had been out running errands. I’d called, but it had gone to voicemail, and despite the message I’d left, he hadn’t called me back all that day or the next. On Wednesday I’d gone back to work, and the bookstore had been closed by the time my shift was over. It was now Friday, my first chance to come try to talk to Geoff again in person, and he still wasn’t here.
“I gave him the day off though,” Sam went on, either not realizing or not caring that he was giving me a stroke. “He had some things to take care of.”
“Sam,” I growled, enunciating my words carefully. “Please. Tell me. Where he is.”
Sam relented, his teasing expression softening. “You know Fairfield Roast? The coffee shop down at the end of the street, on the corner?”
I nodded impatiently. Of course I did, that was where Geoff and I had gone on our first “date.”
“He’s probably still there,” Sam told me.
I was practically out the door when I heard his voice call after me, “Good luck, Bria!”
I waved back over my shoulder, then flew down the street.
Chapter 14
GEOFF
In the cold light of day, the place was a little more worn than it had looked the last time I’d been in here. Besides, that time, I’d been preoccupied with Bria, sitting in front of me with her killer black dress and red shoes. My heart clenched at the memory.
I still hadn’t returned her call from earlier that week. After she’d avoided me all weekend, I hadn’t thought I would end up being the one avoiding her. But Sam’s words had made me think. He was right. I couldn’t blame Bria, or my father, for my own mistakes. And I needed to fix my own shit before I could move forward.
But now here I was, taking the first steps toward doing just that. Maybe it was time to return her call.
I put the thought aside for now and turned my attention back to the coffee shop. Well, ex-coffee shop. Today I could see that the paint was peeling off the walls, some of the light fixtures were broken, and the booths were a little shabby and worn.
No matter. That was all fixable. All that really mattered was that the place had a huge kitchen, a workable layout, and a great location.
I went behind the counter again, and was kneeling on the floor to assess the state of the cabinets back there when I heard a knock on the front door. The place was closed and locked, lights off, clearly out of business even without the giant “For Sale” sign in the window, so I only spared the door a dismissive glance, before my brain registered the figure peering tentatively through the glass.
Bria.
I sprang to my feet so fast I nearly tripped and flew to the door, my eyes scanning her through the glass, taking in her wide eyes and anxious expression. Her blue hair was messy, strands escaping out of a loose ponytail, there were dark shadows under her eyes, and she pulled at the hem of her coat, fidgeting as she waited for me to let her in. She looked beautiful.
It took more than one try to disengage the locks, my fingers fumbling clumsily with the latches until finally they gave way and I wrenched the door open.
We both spoke over each other, frantic to get the words out.
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“I shouldn’t have—”
“The investigation is over; I still have my job.”
“I wanted to—What?”
She started to laugh, the sound a soothing balm to my ears, and I gripped her upper arms in both hands, reveling in the feel of her, the solid warmth of her, and pulled her into the store. Her laughter turned slightly hysterical.
“It’s wonderful, but it’s also terrible, and I needed to tell you—and Sam said you quit your job?! Why would you—”
Rather than answer, I pulled her against me, wrapping my arms around her and squeezing tight. I ducked my head and buried my face in the warmth of her hair, breathing in the clean
floral scent of her, and when her arms came up around me as well, my chest eased in a feeling of palpable relief.
Finally, I forced myself to release her, helping her out of her coat and leading her over to the worn booth by the cold, silent fireplace that we’d sat in together what seemed like forever ago.
“Geoff,” she started, “what’s going on? Sam said—”
I reached across the table and covered her hand with my own. “Wait. Tell me what happened first. Tell me about your job.”
She flipped her hand over so her palm was against mine and laced our fingers together. Her skin was soft and warm, and I instantly felt more calm than I had in days.
“It’s a hell of a story,” she warned me, and then the whole tale came out. Tears sparkled in her eyes, and I could feel her pain as she told me about Mr. Templeton, and what had really happened, about Claire’s mistakes, confounded by more mistakes, and I could tell that despite Claire’s role in everything, Bria was still deeply saddened by the loss of her friend. She told me what my father had said to her, not to mention what she’d said to him, and I blinked in surprise, but let her finish uninterrupted.
When she trailed off, I just sat there, trying to take it all in, before leaning forward and brushing away the lone tear that had escaped her lashes. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you last weekend,” I said. “Or this week. You must have been so upset. I know there isn’t anything I could have done to change it, but—”
“It was my own fault,” she said, cutting me off. “I shouldn’t have said that, anyway. You would have been a huge help.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” I told her, then looked down at the table. “And I’m sorry I didn’t call you back. I…realized I needed to work on myself before I would be able to work on us.”
“Is there still an ‘us’ to work on?” she asked, and I looked back up, meeting her eyes.
“There is,” I said firmly, then again, my voice soft. “There is. I’m so glad you came to find me.”
